


lies taste sweet the first time you tell 'em

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Betrayal, Reader-Insert, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: Emily is gone, and then she's not.You don't know what hurts most, at the end of the day.
Relationships: The BAU Team & Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	lies taste sweet the first time you tell 'em

The warehouse echoes around you. Your gun is lifted, pointed, aimed, but you haven’t gotten off a single shot, because Derek’s there. In front, taking point, and you’ve got his back.

Derek’s your friend. Derek’s your _brother_.

But.

It shouldn’t be you. You don’t belong there. You know who stands next to him, on every case, who covers his back. But she’s the one you’re looking for, in the near empty warehouse. The one who you’re trying to save.

Derek turns a corner. Screams for a medic, and you’re there, by his side, watching his partner bleeds out on the floor.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells her, and you’re an intruder, you’re an imposter, you’re not Emily. He pleads for help, and you stumble with the sound, at the sight of Emily’s face. Paling in the lone bulb’s light.

You could never be Emily. Emily is brilliant, vibrant, powerful, and you’re in her shadow. She is Derek’s partner, and so he’s the one who holds her hands, who tells her to squeeze until she can’t anymore.

His screams seem unheard, so you scream, too, until your voice is hoarse. You stand by him, until they come, until they take her away. And then your hand finds his, squeezes tight until the blood leaves your fingers. The tears don’t come, because your jaw is firmly set, and Derek’s breath is coming hot through his nose, but they’re there. Blurring your vision. The two of you don’t break apart until you have to, until the waiting room’s fluorescent lights blind you.

You’re not Emily.

Emily’s on the table, after all.

-

The waiting room is plain, white, almost an offense to the eyes. It makes you blink, turning the corner, the nighttime air vanishing in favor of the stale hospital smell. When your vision clears enough to see, you see her.

Derek’s hand is dropped, but he’s right behind you. Because there, right there, is Penelope Garcia, and you move to embrace her.

“Garcia,” you gasp out. Each breath seems to be caught in your lungs, afraid that it will be one more than Emily will take. Your shoulders have matching stains now, as you grip each other. Lifelines. From Derek to Penelope. “We followed them. The ambulance…”

“The team’s coming,” she assures you, and her voice is so choked you can barely hear her words in it. But she’s there, and you’re there, and soon Derek has got a hand on both of you.

With Derek it’s tight breaths, with Derek, your teeth feel like they’re going to crack. The drive is silent.

With Penelope, you hear everything. You hear each time the doors open and close, you hear her sniffles in your ear while you grip her. You hear her soft murmurs, and the tapping of her heels on the tile.

She’s so bright. And yet even now, her color seems to dull. The hospital sucks the vitality out of all who dare to enter, and Penelope is not immune.

Her mascara runs, and she does not hide it, because Penelope’s tears are empathetic. She cries with Emily, on that table, and cries with you, when your head ducks and Derek’s hand rests on your shoulder.

You wait. And you wait, and you wait.

-

JJ walks through the open doorway, and your world shatters.

“She never made it off the table.”

Her eyes are wide, and bright with tears. Yours match hers, and you can hear Penelope beside you gasp out a “no”. You’re surprised she can say anything at all. You can barely breathe.

You watch Spencer jump to his feet. He stands, pushing up, leaping up, and you watch him try to push past her.

What is she saying? What is _he_ saying? You can’t hear anything; your ears are ringing, after all, and all you can see is Emily on the floor of the warehouse –

JJ pulls away from him. From Spencer. And you don’t see where she goes, but you see Spencer, and you see him fall, stumble, keep pushing forward.

“Reid,” you call out to him, but he’s gone. He’s gone.

When you turn back to Derek and Penelope, they’re in each other’s arms. You meet Derek’s eyes, over Garcia’s shuddering form, and you can’t look at her, her pain. But you see Derek, and you see him nod, and with that you’re standing, too, pushing up, leaping to follow him.

“Reid,” you call out. “Reid!” You can’t find him, you don’t know where he is, but you keep calling his name, hunting the halls. Your voice starts to crack, and when a few minutes pass you’re feeling your chest split in two.

“Reid. _Spencer_ ,” you try one more time, and when you push out of the hospital into the cold night air, you see him.

He’s shaking. Trembling, like a leaf, and when you call his name again, he turns to you. His eyes are swollen, red, puffy.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “Reid, I’m so sorry.” You don’t know what you’re apologizing for. Maybe it’s for not getting there in time. Maybe it’s for failing. Because you did, didn’t you? Failed to save her?

Oh, god, you’re trembling, too.

“I didn’t – I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he whispers, and when you’re colliding it’s to hold each other, to cry with each other, to break with each other.

-

She deserves better than this.

The room is quiet now. Derek and Penelope are gone, and Reid has long since left with JJ after you urged him out of the chill. Rossi is still here, with Hotch, and you remain, too. But… but so does Seaver, and it’s all that goes through your head. Watching her crumple, watching her head fall.

She hasn’t moved. Not in a long time. You think, maybe, that she’s waiting for Rossi, someone, to notice her, remember her, take her home.

She deserves better than this.

This team, this life. Seeing a mentor fall so soon, the woman who stood up for her in more ways than one. Who didn’t hold her hand but let encouraged her, took her under her wing. Who saw past the trial run, saw something more. Past the history, invested in her.

In honor of Emily, because of her, you drift over to Seaver, and find yourself sitting carefully next to her. Your tears aren’t falling anymore, because the shock has settled over you like a blanket, smothering any emotion, choking them into submission. All you have left is the numb feeling of reaching for Seaver’s hand, holding it tight.

“Is it always like this?” she asks you. Her voice is always soft, but there’s something that trembles in it, and you glance to her with a shuddering sigh.

Nod, just once.

Her head sits on your shoulder, and you wrap your arm around her, and as the two of you sink into something unthinkable, you can’t help but hope she gets what she deserves. That one day she gets better. One day.

(She leaves. You can’t stop her. And you don’t want to.

A new start. A fresh start.

A better start.)

-

You push on because you have no other choice.

That’s the job. That’s the game. You walk with Reid and Penelope and JJ and the team, watching the pallbearers carry her casket, and then she is buried and it is done. And you have to keep going. Somehow.

Days pass. Weeks. It is a blur. You watch as everyone crumbles, in one way or another. Everyone is… coping, but no one is coping well, and you find yourself drifting from one case to the next in the hopes that someone will crack the code. Maybe the FBI has a pamphlet.

_How To Survive When Your Family Dies: A Step-by-Step Guide_!

But no one does, no one here, and nights start to get later and later. Paperwork piles up. The BAU is down an agent, and you… well.

You start to realize you’re firmly settled in the anger stage of grieving by the time your grief assessment comes around.

It’s leaving that grief assessment you see him. Rossi. He’s standing outside his office, swirling something in his mug, something that looks a lot like another cup of caffeine. It makes your lip curl in sympathy, and when he looks over at you he nods to his door.

_Join me?_

You do. You grab a mug, pour yourself a cup of caffeine, with something stronger lacing it. It tastes horrific, but for the first time in what feels like months you feel something in your chest, something like warmth as you swallow it down.

Rossi just watches you, as you choke down another sip and let the mug rest on your lap.

“You know, Derek blames himself.”

You speak without thinking, and you know that Rossi is nodding, even though your eyes are trained on your mug. Your finger traces the rim, and the encounter with Hotch to talk about your feelings has them sketched out on your face, trapped in the furrow of your brow.

“Do you?” Rossi asks, and your scoff is harsh. Your voice is hard. Your finger skids off of the ceramic.

“I could never blame Derek. He was there. He was the one who held her hands while she lay there dying.” Your hand squeezes into a fist, and you feel the sting of your nails against your palm.

Rossi sighs, leans forward in his chair. You can’t look at him, but you hear it, in his voice. The pain. “Kid…”

“But what did I do? Just stood there. Like an idiot, I should’ve… should’ve done anything, and maybe she’d be… she’d be sitting…”

Your voice cracks, and Rossi is moving to embrace you. He hugs you, holds you tight, and you try not to think about the empty chair as you cry onto a suit worth more than your rent.

And maybe, just maybe, he cries on your shoulder, too.

-

_“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should direct them towards me.”_

_“Issues? Yeah, I got issues.”_

She’s alive.

She’s fucking alive.

Derek’s words echo in your head. You can’t think of anything to better sum up your feelings than his sharp tone, the hurt in his gaze as he stared at Hotch.

The case is over. Winding down. Your vest is tight on your chest, and you can’t really think until you start to rip it off. Maybe it’s against protocol, when guns are still drawn and Doyle’s body isn’t even cold on the runway, but your eyes can’t stand to stare at the damn plane any longer. You need to get out of there.

Your steps start to move towards one of the SUVs. A hand finishes the job, and your vest falls to the ground, your

You hear your last name. It doesn’t really register that you should turn around until you hear it again, sharper, more direct. When you hear your name again, it’s right behind you, and you whirl around to snap when you realize it’s Hotch.

Suddenly, your anger rises. Snapping isn’t enough. A slap seems more appropriate, and your fingers curl into a fist at the sight of him.

“I just need some air,” you settle on saying, but the words are so strangled he surely must know what’s raging inside of you.

His eyes. He’s bearded and dressed down, he’s vested with a still-warm gun, but his eyes are the same. Deep, endless, pained.

“You did good work,” he offers, and what lid you have on your frustrations comes off. You scowl, almost snarl at him.

“You’re a bastard, Hotch.” And tears prick at your eyes until you have to turn away again.

He’s already seen you cry. He’s seen you weeping, a mess, as he checks up on you. Analyzes your grief, to make sure you can still function as an agent, as a team member. He’d sat next to you, then, a hand on your shoulder, and you’d seen him as you’d always seen him. Stoic. Strong. A leader.

Not now.

He’s seen you cry once. He will not see it again.

-

JJ stares after Spencer, after his anger flares. He _trusted_ her, after all. It makes you wince, the look on her face, the tears in her eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t have seen the display, but it’s not your fault the doors were open, not your fault that Reid’s cry of “it’s too late” sends shivers down your spine.

JJ stands there, afterward, the look on her face crestfallen as Reid walks away from her. Prentiss calls after the genius, but you find yourself drifting towards the blonde. Hotch stands behind you, with Rossi, and Derek, their heads over a file once Prentiss goes to soothe him, but you’re enraptured by the way that that JJ’s shoulders are hunching when she turns from the eyes that had been on her.

“What, here to pile on?” she sighs out. Her body is over the table, a hand on her face and wiping away the tears.

You stiffen. You had been reaching for her, but now the gesture seems weak, and you just pull back. Your hand clenches into a fist.

“Don’t do that, Jayje.”

She looks up at you. And maybe what she sees on your face she saw on Reid, because it’s her turn to wince.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking back down at the table. “I just –“

“Yeah. I know.”

You move to sit down, pulling one of the chairs out for you to settle into. Your eyes close, for a moment, and when you open them again she’s looking at you.

“We did what we had to do to protect Emily. You know that, right?”

For a moment you hesitate. You work the saliva in your mouth for a second, trying to think of something to say. At this point, all you feel is an amalgam of… everything the past few months had to offer you, especially when you look at the woman in front of you.

“I know. Now. But for a long time, all I knew is that she was dead. And all I had left were my friends.”

“You didn’t lose those,” she counters, and for a moment your eyes lift to move over to Hotch, to Prentiss, to her. “I’m still the same person that cares about you, that loves you, all of you. I was doing my job. For you, for Derek, for Spence –“

“You left a liaison and came back a profiler. Emily died a profiler and came back a spy,” you say with a laugh, but it’s hollow. When you stand, she lifts up, too, and you offer wan smile. “Things are different, JJ. Not good, or bad, just different. Whether or not you see it is up to you.”

-

You think you can pretend, for a night. Pretend like it still doesn’t ache still. Pretend, like Reid, like JJ, like all of them that it’s all okay again. 

But every time you look at her, you seem to look right through her. Like she truly is a specter, come back to life.

You find an escape, as you finish your carbonara, after Rossi has poured you another glass.

“What can I say?” she asks you, and your body stills, your hands gripping the edges of the sink.

She came back, after all. She smiles at you, at work, and you smile back, and yet each time you look at her desk all you see is an empty chair. So maybe she’s just noticed just how hollow the gesture really is, and maybe she sees the way you still pick at your food some days when your dreams have her in them.

All you see is her, dead on the warehouse floor. Dead on the operating table. Dead right in front of you, even as she reaches out to you, pleads with you to just talk.

“I don’t know,” you admit, seeing her in the mirror when you look up, turning to face her and leaning on it the sink’s marble lining.

“Can I try?”

Your eyes meet hers steadily. Your chin lifts. You raise a brow at her. “Yeah. Okay. Try.”

When she lifts her hand to brush her hair behind her ear, you see Derek gripping it tight.

“I lost you, Prentiss.”

She’s taken aback. She hasn’t said a word, after all, and yet you’ve already cut her off, eyes stuck on her hands before you manage to meet her eyes. “I lost you,” you repeat, “and I don’t know if I can get you back.”

“But I _am_ back,” she tries, and you shake your head. 

“And what’s left? What’s left, Prentiss?” Your voice is sharp, and you’re glad Rossi’s house is a maze as well as a mansion. Some semblance of privacy. “I watched Derek carry your fucking coffin, I cried in bathroom stalls all over the damn country. I watched Hotch lie to my face over and over again, telling me how to deal with the fact that you died, Emily.” Your sudden laugh shocks you. “How fucked is that? I had to wallow in my sorrow with a man who knew that it was all bullshit.”

Her jaw clenches, her gaze breaking yours. “And I’m _sorry_. You and Derek and Penelope and Reid and Rossi, none of you deserved that. Do you hear me?” Emily is fighting back now, taking another step forward, and when she reaches for you, you don’t flinch back this time, pinned against the sink. Her hands grab at your arms, hold you still. “I’m _sorry_. But I needed to stay alive, do you hear me? I needed to stay alive, and that was the only way I could do that.”

She’s still calm. Still composed. Still a spy. It infuriates you, and your breath comes out in a hiss.

“The _only_ way?” Your eyes narrowed, and your accusation was paired with a finger jabbing into her shoulder. “The only fucking way was for you to lie to us? To me?”

“I did what I did to protect you guys. To make sure you all stayed alive! You think I wanted to leave?” You can see the cracks, actual emotion under the careful presence she’s created as she slides back into the team. “With me gone, Doyle took his eyes off of you. You were no longer a target.”

You push past her, scoffing. “I would’ve taken a bullet for you, Prentiss. I would’ve taken anything for you. The whole damn team would’ve. You’re the one who thought we couldn’t handle it.”

Suddenly, her fingers reach out to grip your shoulder. Halting you. Your instinct is to shrug away again, but you’re spinning to snap at her, give her a real piece of your mind –

But you can’t. Because the last of the spy has fallen away, and all that is left is Emily. Her wide eyes, pleading with you as she says your name.

Your body goes a little limp. Your anger passes, as it does these days, like the first light of a match. Sparks and sputters before fading away altogether. When you look up at her again, you just sigh. Raise a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, weak once the anger leaves you.

“I just… missed you, Emily That’s all.” It comes out hoarse, and you shake your head, trying to clear it. “I missed you so much, and you were gone. And I guess that’s what hurts the most. Knowing that there was nothing I could do but watch you die.”

Her grip on your shoulder has loosened. You can pull away, if you must, but something about the way her fingers glide across your arm make you linger just a bit longer.

“You’re my family, Emily. And I just can’t lose my family again. I _can’t_. I just need… I need some more time. I’m sorry.”

Her hand drops. Your lips twitch up for a moment, but then you’re moving away from her, turning back to the room where you can hear Penelope’s glee, Rossi’s firm voice. 

“How much time?” she calls out, but you don’t respond.

Because the truth is… you don’t know.


End file.
